Children of Orion
by OR7A
Summary: Bertrand Russell - "War does not determine who is right - only who is left."
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE:

Eons ago the Orion's rule prevailed over our galaxy. Their benign rule and advanced technology helped them to administrate their will peaceful and without opposite. However their unviolent demeanour would be put to the test when they eventually came across a technology as advanced as their own whose origins would remain unknown. The Antaran Imperal ships swept through outerlying Orion territory quickly and ruthlessly leaving behind only scorched worlds.

The Orions fought back. Their attentions turned from advanced irrigation and warp field theories to weapons of mass destruction.. and eventually the genetic creation of a race that would fight their battles for them. A horrible war was waged that culminated in a last ditch Antaran assault against the Orion homeworld.

What happened during that assault? That was lost to the ages, along with the actual location of the Orion homeworld. The worlds on which the Orions ruled fell into anarchy and disarray as the natives had little or no clue how to operate the technologies left to them. Millennia passed and the Orion Civilization and the Antaran Civilization become nothing more than myth.

The galaxy is now a different place. Centuries of different Empires rising and falling has left it's toll on the Milkyway's landscape, and now in the aftermath of the most recent of conflicts; the Succession War, we follow a young starship Captain in the fleet of Terra, who will very shortly become very important to the survival of not just his own race, but all those who claim to be: CHILDREN OF ORION. 


	2. Red Seventeen

"The war has taken a lot out of my ship Admiral, we really need some downtime..." Captain Blackwell was fighting a loosing battle with his superior. His ship, the TNS (Short for Terran Naval Ship) Dauntless had been out of dock for nearly 2 years without a major service, and without any crew R&R. Although a patrol ship by design, the period of quiet and peace that preceeding the unexpected Succession War meant the Dauntless had been dispatched to the far side of Sakkra space on a mapping survey mission.

"It's taken a lot out of everyone Captain," Admiral Bensen replied, she was merely a face projected into mid air at the center of Blackwell's desk, but she looked so real he could reach out and touch her.

"And there's ships that need resupply more than the Dauntless, you over equipped and provisioned before your deep space haul."

Rebecca Bensen was the youngest Admiral in the fleet, daughter of famous previous Commander in Chief of Naval operations Cartwright Bensen, she had gotten a lot of merit off her father's back, but had earnt her own as well. Perhaps being so young she had something to prove, which made her a bit of a hardass at the best of times.

"I'm only a day and a half jump from Echo Platform, the Valiant who is schedueled to dock there won't make it for another two days," Blackwell argued, having raised from his chair and was pacing his office, the hologram he knew would follow him.

"The matter is final Captain. The Dauntless is to report to Sector Alpha-Niner-five to escort Psilon refugees."

"Understood," Blackwell said reluctantly.

He reached for the control that would cut the transmission, but was halted when the Admiral continued.

"I'm sorry Tom... but the wellbeing of the fleet overall has to take priority."

"I know," Blackwell said, settling back down in his chair and offered the Admiral the biggest smile he could muster.

"I love you Tom," the Admiral said.

"I love you too," Blackwell replied, and cut the transmission. He still felt uncomfortable exchanging personals on open com-frequencies, although his relationship with the Admiral had been old news since before the war he still felt he needed to keep it a secret, even if it was just from her father...

Without a moment to spare pondering on his lover, the Captain headed back from his rectangular shaped office through it's one and only door back on the Dauntless' bridge. The room was built in a tringular fashion, with the back wall slopping angled from the corridor centrally to two doors either side. The one to port, the Captain's office and the one to starboard the XO's office.

Blackwell took his vacant chair and settled himself in.

"Report," came the order.

The young officer at the Helm controls, situated just infront of Blackwell's chair, piped up: "Course steady for Echo Station sir as ordered."

"Belay that. Set a course for Sector Alpha-Niner-five, there's a group of Psilon refugees that desperately need escorting."

Never before had Terra Prime's resources been stretched so thin. The Succession Wars had proven costly for all involved, and it was not only the military, but the civilians of each Imperial power that were still paying that price. The Dauntless, Blackwell's first command, had seen it's fair share of action. Both he and his crew had been awarded various medals for bravery in the face of seemingly insermountable odds... but all of those were yet to actually be collected and were waiting for their new owners in the draw of some Admiral back on homeworld. Tom had taken a personal toll as well, his entire immediate family had been killed when the Klackons glassed the Terran colony on Rakella. He had also suffered physical hardship when he had personally lead the marine expedition into a Tachidi base, and came back with two less limbs. Trilarian regrowth technologies had been employed and the artifical legs Tom now walked on were infact superior to his originals... but as he'd complain to anyone who would less; they constantly itched.

With the Psilon refugees numbering 700, housing them in the belly of the Dauntless wasn't an option. Instead a tractor beam had been secured on the Psilon's marooned vessel and the Dauntless now slowly brought them home.

Blackwell, his black uniform ruffled and unclean, his top shirt buttons undone, and his rank insignia long since thrown onto the bedside cabinet flopped onto his bed. Rubbing his hands over his face and brushing the imaginary dust from his short brown hair, he closed his eyes. For just a moment he wanted to pretend he was somewhere else, on a beach on Proxima with Rebecca. He could just start to hear the waves when... his door chime went off.  
"Enter," he said with a very deep sigh.

Tom kept his place on the bed, and his hands over his face splitting his fingers to allow whomever was entering to see his hazelnut eyes.

"Sorry if I am intruding Captain," said a voice.

It took a moment for Blacwell's eyes to focus thanks to the bright light shining in from the corridor through the still open door.

"Would it make any difference if you were?" Tom said, raising himself to a sitting upright position.  
"What can I do for you this evening Lieutenant Commander?"

It was Tom's Executive Officer, Leon "Dutchy" Firman. It wasn't the first XO the Dauntless had had during the war, Tom's long time friend Richard Radley, had occupied the role previously... but had met with an unfortunate death standing at the wrong end of a Cynoid pulse weapon during the early days of the war. Dutchy had been the XO aboard the Tireme before being reassigned to the Dauntless a few months after Radley had died in the line of combat.

"I thought I'd tell you in person," Dutchy said, he wasn't often one to dance around the point, but tonight he seemed different.

"Tell me what?" Tom asked, now on his feet and heading for what he hoped was a restocked liquer cabinet.

"There's a rogue planetoid on our current course."

"Wow, haven't see ten millions of those before."

Pouring himself a drink, he gestured the bottle of green coloured thick liquid toward Dutchy in an offer to join him. His XO decllined the offer and continued: "We're receiving a Red-seventeen signal from it's surface."

"Red-Seventeen..." Blackwell echoed through the glass he'd raised to his mouth. Tom put the glass down carefully, and took a step or two closer to his XO.

"Are you a hundred percent?"

"Aye Captain."

Without saying anything Blackwell looked around for his Command Jacket. Sourcing it from behind the room's only singular chair he adorned it and looked Dutchy dead in the face.

"And you know that can only mean one thing."

Any first year cadet could tell you that all Allied military transmissions during the war were assigned colour coded configurated, with a uniquely numbered tag to identify the origin. For example, had the Dauntless been attacked during it's current mission the signal code would be Yellow-Fourteen, meaning whomever was receiving it would know which decription matrix to use to decifer the message. It had been seen by the Allied forces as the only way to successful communicate between battle groups without the Cynoids, Klackons or Sakkra intervening.

A red-seventeen meant that the Patriot, Admiral Bensen's flagship was sensing a communication. Only question was, what the hell was it doing in this area of the Orion sector?

"Replay the message," Blackwell said, his appearance now smarter and more commanding, as he entered the bridge and took his chair. Dutchy followed from the lift a moment later and took the tactical station.

A holographic representation of the video footage began to play out on the wall infront of Blackwell. Tom was expecting the worst. Although the Succession War was over, it had only been a few months... there were reports from the frontier that renegade Sakkra militarists had seized control of a variety of naval installations and vessels and were continuing their holy crusade against the regrouping Allied forces. Maybe Beccy's ship was attacked in hyperspace en-route, to god knows where and she and her crew crash landed on this planetoid... maybe she's all alone in a lifepod... maybe she's...

The signal wasn't the Admiral. It wasn't anyone Blackwell recognized. It wasn't even a Terran.

"What is this?!" Blackwell demanded to now of his crew in particular.

"THis is the red-seventeen transmission Captain," the Ensign at the Helm replied. Blackwell kept the urge to bite the young crewmember's head off for stating the obvious. Managing to keep his tongue Tom looked at the screen... the scene unfolding was what Blackwell could only imagine was falsified footage of the Dauntless herself being flanked by two Sakkra vessels and being destroyed.

"This is crap," Tom finally decided after seeing out the entirety of the footage, and waiting to see if it started again.

"Why the hell is this obviously forged footage being transmitted from a no-name rock on a Terran military signal?"

"I don't have an answer Captain," Dutchy said coming away from Tactical to face his commanding officer.

"Get this off my screen!" Tom yelled standing up and coming down towards the front of the bridge.

"Have scans revealed WHAT is sending out that signal?"

"That's the thing Captain," Dutchy said trying to calm the Captain... Blackwell had been awake god-knows how many hours on the trot, "The planetoid itself is transmitting it. There's nothing on the surface, bare a few annoymous rocks... but our scanners can't penetrate the surface."

"Damnit. Find out what the hell is going on!"

"Ensign Dorchester, send a message to the Psilon Commander, apologize for the interuption to their rescue but we've got an emergency," Blackwell was quick firing orders, "Dutchy send a damned probe down to the planetoid's surface and get me some readings on why they're using Beccy's frequency."

Dutchy almost batted an eyelid, he hadn't heard the Captain called Admiral Bensen by her familiar in public before, almost.

"And turn that video off!" 


	3. Accidental Participation

Please read and review guys if you wanna see more! I really appriciate your feedback.

* * *

The eyes of the Dauntless' bridge crew watched the main viewer with a hawkish concentration. Blackwell's attention was the most intense. He frowned as he watched the probe dance it's way on autopilot towards this annoymous rogue planetoid.

In the coldness of space the tiny speck of silver that was the Dauntless' sixth sense almost seemed to dawdle towards its target. If sound could travel in the empty black eternity only the small pinging of the probe's radar based motion-tracking systems would be audiable.

"Any telemetry yet?" the Captain asked, his voice was calmer than before... but the authority hadn't deminished. Even Dutchy was acting as if he was treading on egg shells.

"Negative Captain," Dorchester reported back from his station after tapping a few controls.

A few more tense moments passed watching the probe, with nothing but background bridge noise for company, finally took it's toll on Tom. "Damnit, how much longer before we receive anything back?"

He was eager to understand why this planetoid was producing a Terran signal... and why it had been produced at the correct time for HIM to hear it and why it was transmitting on HIS lover's frequency. But infact only a minute or two had elapsed.

"I'll ping the probe again for any information it might have processed for far," Dorchester said working his console.

All of a sudden the main viewer's coverage of the probe's flight was cut short. The screen returned to a plan starscape.

"What the hell..." Blackwell said, rising from his chair, as if getting closer to the viewer would be of some advantage.

"Why has the footage changed?" he looked to his XO for a answer, as Dutchy was stood near Tactical.

"The angle wasn't changed Captain. We're looking at the same piece of space..."

"Then where the hell has the probe gone?" Blackwell demanded, throwing his thumb over his shoulder, as if Dutchy hadn't seen the change on the viewer.

"Scanning now Captain," Dutchy said through gritted teeth. Tom was his friend, and the Captain was obviously under a lot of stress... but sometimes he seemed to forget that his crew had endured the harshness of the war too, and they were also all weary and in need of more than just a stiff drink and a quick nap to keep spirits up. He could only tolerate the Captain in on of his moods for so long.

"Captain," Dorchester piped up, "Sir... I can't find the probe... I mean, I sent out the ping... but it passed straight through and bounced off that planetoid. It's as if the probe has vanished." The young Ensign, who had a few more worry lines that a man of his years should have, looked up from his console after confirming his findings.

"What..." Blackwell could hardly assimilate the information he was being offered from his trusted officers. "We're looking at the same space we were just a minute ago... did I miss something? Did something shoot it out of the sky? Did it hit a mine?"

"Negative Captain..." Dorchester said, he had turned back to his computer.

"Confirmed Sir, our sensors aren't picking up anything out of the ordinary other than the probe simply isn't there..." Dutchy confirmed.

Blackwell frowned hardly now than he had when Bensen had ordered his ship after from dock to pick up a few Psilon refugees. He retook his Captain's seat and thought about the situation rationally for a second.

"Dutchy, confirm we DID actually launch a probe with the quartermaster."

A few quiet seconds passed, punctuated by only a few bleeps and chirps as people's work their computer terminals.

"Affirmative Captain. A probe was definately launched, from bay 2... approximately 3 minutes and forty-seven seconds ago."

"Launch a second probe," Blackwell said without hestitate, "Use a class two and patch it's thruster controls directly to your station... and put it on the viewer!"

A Class two probe was a much larger apparatus. Normally only survey vessels would carry them, usually in high quantaties to make mapping parts of space and study large spacial anomalies quicker and easier... but since they were so accurate and easy to maneavour they were soon shipped out to most combat worthy ships during the war and strapped up with anti-matter warheads and flown into Sakkra or Meklar fortifications.

"Probe away," Dutchy announced, even though everyone could see it was a fact on the main viewer.

"Thrusters at full burn," the Dauntless' First Officer continued his running commentary. Little time had eroded before he announced; "Probe nearing last probe's last recorded coordinates."

"Passing last known coordi..." Dutchy trailed off. His console suddenly bleeped at him with various connection lost warnings.

The Dauntless' viewer was blank once again; the Captain was not happy. "What the hell keeps happening to our probes. Is there somekind of forceshield around that thing that is reflecting our sensors and masking visuals, and the probes are merely passing through it?" Forceshields and reflecting sensor grids might have been the works of fantasy in some Professor's mind back on Terra Prime, but since the war had begun technology had advanced rapidly... especially with the advanced Psilon's on their side. Who knows what technology from ancient experiments had also been left around, lingering in space...

"Only one way to find out," Blackwell said loudly, he wanted his entire bridge team to be aware before he even announced his intentions what he was going to order.

"Take the ship closer.."

"Sir!" Dutchy protested, he'd had enough... he had always been slightly telepathic... more a pathic-receiver... he could sense things others couldn't, but he didn't need his latent Psi abilities to know Tom was cracking up.  
Dutchy came storming away from his console, and the Captain came storming out of his chair... the two strong personalities met in the middle ground of the science console, which fortunately was unmanned.

"We've got to get these refugees to..."

Blackwell held up his hand, his palm was flat and his wrist unshaking, a universal "hush" signal. "Commander.." Tom began, "This is MY ship. It is perfectly acceptable under the terms of paragraph 14, sub section Epsilon, for a Captain to order his ship off it's original mission, IF the mission is not one of importance to the immediate needs of Terra, to pursue any distress signals."

"But - " Dutchy tried to interupt, but the Captain had a full head of steam and nothing short of derailing him completely, could stop his train...

"And this is exaclty what we're doing. I appriciate your concerns. Trust me I do," his voice had been calm, but it intensified with the next few words. "But this is MY ship, and you are MY crew. And you all will follow MY orders."

Blackwell calmed himself down and brushed his uniform down, patting it back into shape. It took a second for his pulse to drop and for him to feel comfortable that he could use his normal voice again; "Am I clear?"

Dutchy merely nodded, hanging his head in shame... with a little bit of disapproval for his Captain, he returned to his station.

"Ensign Dorchester," Tom said, a satisfied smirk on his face, but worry in his heart retook the center seat. "Take us closer. Sensors on full, keep the pace steady to not upset the tow we have on the refugee's vessel."

Dorchester typed in a few controls and the ship began to slowly edge forward. Within moments the ship was nearing the last recorded location of the probes pre-disappearance. The tension on the bridge, created both by the disagreement between the CO and the XO, but also the apprehension about passing through whatever force had vanished to probe's, could be cut with a knife.

"Steady as she goes," Blackwell ordered, leaning forward expectantly.

"Crossing the theshold..." Dorchester, suddenly threw himself out of his chair, holding his head... his mouth open in a sign of tremendous agony. Although he didn't utter a word, not a scream or moan escape his lips, the pain he endured for the last few brief moments of life were evident.

Nobody on the bridge moved for the first few seconds, so stunned were they by Dorchester's sudden reaction to... well, nothing.

Lieutenant Falkner, the Operations Chief, was the first to the young Ensign's body. Only Dutchy, who remained at his station to bring the ship to a halt wasn't huddled around Dorchester's body. "Falkner to sickbay, get a team up here stat!"

The Captain forced his way through the small collection of bridge officers, by the time he first saw Dorchester's corpse it's appearance had already changed for the worse. The colour had completely drained from his face, and his entire body looked, more than just lifeless, it looked as if something had gone... something had been removed.

"My god..." Blackwell said, standing back up after checking Dorchester's pulse. He opened his arms wide and stepped back, ushering the others to do the same just as the medical team swooped out of the lift doors and rushed to the Ensign's side.

Blackwell took a few steps back, had his actions caused this? What force could they possibly be dealing with? He looked to Dutchy, who wore a neutral expression, and who hadn't moved from his post. "We're all stop Captain, two thousand kilometers past where the probe's vanished."

Blackwell nodded, approaching Dutchy's console, he wanted to see a tactical layout of their location in relation to the planetoid. "Another problem," Dutchy said his face sinking even further, "When Dorchester had his..." he didn't really know what Dorchester had suffered; he decided on "... had his attack, he moved the polarity of the tractor beam we had established on the refugee ship."

"Results?" Blackwell asked.

"The Psilons are even closer to that thing that we are... and they're now completely adrift."

"Establish another tractor beam and back us all out of here!" Blackwell ordered, he was desperate. He didn't know what to think, his whole world had been so secure; do this mission and have leave, eventually marry his sweatheart and live happily ever after on a beach somewhere with his many war medals and the hundreds of kids he intended to have. Now everything had changed so suddenly... receiving that signal, getting trapped here... Dorchester's demise.

Then things just got a whole lot worse, Dutchy pressed futilely at a few commands; looked up and shook his head. Blackwell's face nearly went as white as Dorchester's had, "Engine failure?"

"Correct, almost a complete power drain on the main anti-matter drive... we're running on the carbon backups."

The Captain's attentions were distracted a minute for that emergency with another. Doctor Carrigan had finished checking over Dorchester, and Tom could see a hover-stretched headed back toward the lift... with the tiny body of the deceased covered with a tasteful black blanket.

"Captain..." Carrigan began, "Cause of death is... well, I don't know really to explain it." Carrigan had years of experience in medicine, infact he had been on course for retirement; spending his last few years in the corps at the service of Tom Blackwell, his god child, but the war had meant anybody's plans for retirement were put on hold, but now his words failed him. "Well... his body just kind of gave up."

"What do you mean? He was young, fit, healthy."

"Yes all of those things are true, but my analysis says his body just gave up the ghost. I'll know more after I've conducted an autopsy. But things get worse."

"Worse?" Blackwell echoed, swallowing deeply.

"I've had reports from two others decks of similar things happening..."

"A contagian?"

"It's possible, but unlikely. We haven't made port in quite a while, but I'm looking into every possibility. I'll let you know my findings."

The Doctor excused himself and followed out after the hover-stretcher.

Blackwell nodded his dismissal and turned back to the rest of the bridge, pleased to see his crew weren't gossiping about what just happened (more importantly, how it was possibly the Captain's fault) and had immediately returned to their stations. Tom turned to his best friend, his confidant, and his XO; Dutchy.

"I've tried to hail the Psilons Captain..." Dutchy said looking up from his work. "Nobody's receiving me."

"Maybe there transmitter, or receivers were damaged in the tractor beam dispersal?"

"Negative, I really mean there nobody to receive my message..." Dutchy said. Blackwell's face dropped again. "You know I have minor Psi abilities, I hardly even rate a level 1... but I can sense things..."

Tom nodded, eager for his XO to continue, "And I can't sense those dozens of Psilons anymore."


	4. Dead by the Dozen

"Maybe they're too far away for you to sense them?" Blackwell asked, he knew Psi abilities had a limited range; but he was grasping at straws... he knew in the back of his mind the fate that befell Dorchester had befallen the Psilons.

Dutchy simple shook his head. Tom returned to his chair, things had taken a turn for the worse. He had not wanted to involve an outside party, he could be brought to trial for anything that happened to the Psilons; but now he had no choice.

"Open an channel to the nearest Terran ship, requesting their assistance," he said shutting his eyes as if they would block out everything that had gone wrong to the day that had started so right.

Dutchy pressed a few buttons, realigning the ship's tachyon transmitter and attempting to dispatch a faster-than-light signal. His attempts were only met by a series of angry bleeps.

"Captain, tachyon transmissions can get through... the transmitter must be malfunctioning."

Blackwell didn't reply, perhaps this place was cursed; or maybe it was just him?

To distract him there was a bleep of a different kind from the communications station where Dutchy stood. "It's the doctor," he reported neutrally.

"Patching through," Dutchy said after deciding not to wait indefinately for the Captain to respond.

"Captain," Carrigan began, "I've finished a primary scan of Dorchester's body... I cannot ascertain a cause of death. What I mean is... his body just kind-of gave up."

"Thank you doctor," Blackwell said, "How many other cases of this is Sickbay dealing with?"

"Twelve," Carrigan said, it gave Tom hope; the Dauntless had a crew of several hundred and twelve wasn't a bad statistic for a spreadable disease in such close quarters. "All deceased," the Doctor continued, reminding the Captain how serious the matter was.

The point was really driven home when at the very moment Blackwell cancelled the communication Lieutenant Falkner suddenly abandoned her post by falling straight to the floor. Tom jumped to his feet, Ensign Festerov was by the Lieutenant's side, she checked the pulse and shook her head at the Captain.

Suddenly Ensign Crammer fell, Dutchy was on hand to catch her as she fell... lowering the already cold body to the bridge's heartless gray floor.

Blackwell came to his XO's side, who unlike Festerov had no checked a pulse, but instead was holding his head; as if suffering from somekind of powerful headache.

After checking Crammer's pulse he turned to Dutchy, "Are you alright?"

"I..." Dutchy stammered, still clutching his head. "The planetoid Captain... a thousand souls trapped, it only need a few more!" Dutchy clambered back to his feet and grabbed Blackwell's arm with a furiousity the Captain was expecting.

"We must get out of here Captain!"

Dutchy's legs suddenly went loose, causing him to stumble and forcing the Captain to react quickly to catch him. Before Tom could enquire what exactly his semi-telepathic friend meant he was called, "Captain..." Festerov called, she was working Dutchy's tactical station. Before she could relay her message the ship was suddenly drowned in darkness. The carbon back-up systems the ship had been using the power the systems had been over worked and had blown out, their complete overhaul had been on the list of jobs to do when in drydock, a place all the crew would most sawly like to be.

A moment passed before the emergency lights, red in colour, dull in brightness, but powered by their own small battery reserve that would ensure their operation for 15 days. "Finish your report Ensign," the Captain asked calmly. Only he, Festerov and the XO remained on the Dauntless' bridge; with the power gone communications with the rest of the ship would be down, as would all the lift and automatic doors.

"I was about to report that things look like they're getting a lot worse Captain," Festerov said taking a small touch of her uniform's utility belt.

"You mean worse than the carbon-back-ups failing?" the Captain asked sarcastically, expecting that to be the phenomenon she was reporting, whilst he retrieved his own mini-torch.

"Negative Captain, just before we lost power I detected two Sakkra ships on a course that'll mean they'll intercept us."

Blackwell was frozen up, he was stuck, without power; loosing his crew to somekind of untraceable epidemic, with the enemy he'd fought mercilessly for a long as he could remember breathing down his neck. Officially, hostilities between the Sakkra Regime and the Terran Empire were at a close, but that wouldn't mean one bitter Sakkra Captain wouldn't take a few pot shots at a disabled Terran ship if he thought he could get away with it.

"Oh, that is worse." Dutchy stood now, brandishing his own torch, looking much better. Tom was thankful for his support, and glad to see him on his feet and at least appearing normal. "Are all internal communications inactive?" the Captain asked, as Dutchy was stood near the Communication's console. "Correct Captain, the panel will not even illuminate."

"Guess we've got a long treck to Engineering then to find out what the hell happened."

Blackwell and Dutchy headed to the lift door, which they would have to ply open with the set of hand-gripable plungers that were located on the side of every automatic door for such occasions.

"Remain here, if we get power back on take the helm and get this ship out of here," the Captain ordered to Festerov.

"And the Psilon?" she asked, more worried about being left alone with two bodies in the dark than geniunely concerned for the safety of their allied aliens.

"Hail them when we get power back, if there's no response. Leave without them. We can't risk overloading anything else by trying to use a tractor beam."

Festerov nodded, and Tom headed through the doors Dutchy had already plied open. Their trip down a maintaince tube, through several deserted corridors and using a short cut through the officer's mess, yielded the sight of three deceased bodies and two live crewmen who now joined their expedition to engineering. Culter and Tomski were Operations Officers who had been trapped in the Officer's mess whilst repairing a broken food dispenser, and were able bodied enough to blaze the way for their commanding officers.

Engineering was the largest section of the Dauntless. Being a ship designed for escort duty meant only short service intervals were intended and smaller than usual anti-matter storage containers were necessary, meaning although they dominated the engineering's landscape they were made small by an engine room that would've held storers of twice the capacity.

"It's like a god damn morgue," Cutler said as he pried the doors open, holding his sleeve over his nose. "Hush that," Blackwell said, he didn't enjoy the smell anymore than the crewman but the proper respect had to be paid to the dead even during these times.

Not one person was still alive in Engineering, although he never raised the point with the Captain; or went into greater detail about what he had seen in his vision after touching the late Ensign on the bridge, Dutchy figured the number of deceased was a factor in their proximity to the planetoid around which the vessel was currently orbiting.

Blackwell went over to engineering's main computer, after it failed to illuminate he ordered Cutler and Tomski down into the pit where the main access was to the carbon-backups. Prying the body of a dead engineer off the floor where they needed to work proved the easiest part of their task and they came out fifteen minutes later empty handed and with the ship not having anymore power now than when they went in.

The Captain and Dutchy meanwhile had found a soul console that would still illuminate when touched. The body of Engineering Chief Walker had been spralled across it when they'd arrived; the work he'd done feverishly before he'd succumbed to whatever the hell was killing the crew was commendable.

Dutchy declined to touch another body, fearing a painful vision like he had endured earlier. "It appears to be somesort of makeshift communications control," Dutchy said before catching his foot on a small device underneath the console.

He bent down to make a closer examination, "Connected to a portable generator. The kind the marines use when making camp... and linked to a..." Dutchy searched around, if Walker had thought of the same idea Dutchy had done he would have a marine designed portable communicator as well. When he saw none he yelled over the Cutler and Tomski, who had just failed to reactivate the carbons to fetch one from the engineering depot on the next deck up.

"What did you mean it has a thousand souls?" Blackwell asked, he had never been very good at engineering and was leaving the preperations of the work station for Tomski and Cutler's return to Dutchy.

"I don't know Captain..." Dutchy said, he was still busy working, but his voice didn't seem as if he were distracted.

"I mean... I..." he stopped, the station was as ready as it'd ever be; and Cutler and Tomski were taking longer than they should have.

"It's just what I saw," he said, as if that was a sufficient answer.

Fortunately he was denied any sort of continuance when Tomski arrives hauling a large heavy communication's device that didn't seem very "portable".

Blackwell looked around the corner from where Tomski came, "Cutler?"

The Crewman simply shook his head, another man had been lost. "Who are we going to hail Captain? You said only those Sakkra ships were close enough to hear any signal?"

"A lifetime at their mercy is better than being dead," the Captain said, he was going to elaborate how he hoped he'd find a the one and only nice Sakkra in their Empire and that, in the spirit of peace and coexistence, drop them off back on the nearest Terran base, but he was interupted when Dutchy announced his completion.

"Right, it's a bit antiquated," Dutchy apologized, "So you'll have to record a message... and then I can send it."

Blackwell spoke loudly and clearly in the console's general direction, stating his rank, name, serial number, the ship's name, status and registration and their current situation. After he'd finished Dutchy began to tap a few controls, readying the device for transmitting. He efforts were thwarted not a minute into his typing when a circuit somewhere blew and the command panel went up in a series of small electrical blowouts.

Blackwell's face fell, "Did the message go?"

Dutchy hung his head, "I don't think so. No." 


	5. Impromtu Rescue

Tomski slumped against the nearby bulkhead, mirroring Dutchy and Blackwell. The three, four at one point, had tried... and failed to raise any sort of spacefarers to come to their rescue; hope it seemed was lost.

"Has anyone else been hearing that really irritating kinda... weird noise?" Blackwell asked, his question wasn't the most articulate but the others knew exactly what he meant.

"You hear it too? I thought it was somesort of Psi-echo from when I got the spooky message from that corpse," Dutchy said, he had heard of such things before... the last few thoughts of a dying soul could be imprinted on a telepath's mind forever.

"I hear it too," Tomski said, sliding himself closer to the other two.

"Is it something in our heads? Or something out there?" Tom asked Dutchy, as if being telepathic would somehow give him an insight into such things.

The three lingered there silent for a moment, perhaps they'd all been driven to instanity by the untimely and still unexplained death of the majority of their crewmates.

"I still here it, but I can't tell where it's coming from..." Tomski said looking at the others to see if they'd found the same thing.

"It's them..." Dutchy said, rising to his feet a look of pure terror across his face. "The noise in our heads... they take your soul when you give into that noise in your head! They - "

Blackwell had stood up and was shaking his XO quite vigorously holding him by the arms, he had never heard such nonsense in all his life... and he didn't expect it from his grounded First Officer.

"That's it Captain, I saw earlier... when I touched that Ensign..."

"What did you see?" Blackwell asked, Dutchy was speaked more logically now and he was released.

"I saw what that planetoid really is... have you ever heard of the Battle of Antares?"

Blackwell looked to Tomski for a moment, for one to check the crewman was still with them and for two to share his puzzeled expression as to where Dutchy's theory was going.

"Of course," Tomski said, but the Captain continued; "It's an old alien myth; there were two great ancient races that fought for supremacy in a primevil galaxy... the loser was banished to another realm of existance and the gateway sealed forever..." Blackwell let himself trail off, he had answered his own question. But it lead to a new one; was this THAT gateway?

"You can't mean...?" Blackwell asked, he couldn't believe it. Centuries, millenia even of space faring races going about their interstellar business and his tiny little destroyer runs into the damned Anteran gateway.

"I do," Dutchy said with conviction. "And there's nothing we can do, it will take our souls to power their return..."

"You're saying, our people; have been soulnapped?" Tomski asked, the idea was poposterous. The Terrans as a race followed the religion of science, for the most part, and the idea of a soul had been longed since forgotten.

"That is just a word to use..." Dutchy said, struggling for the terminology to explain; "To explain the essence, the lifeforce of a person. That is what that dark gateway needs... life-energy."

The three fell silent again, taking a moment to absorb the energy.

"My god," Blackwell said, it was obviously by how his facial features altered in a instant his thoughts had wandered. "Festerov!" he suddenly burst out, the crewmember they'd abandoned on the bridge whilst the Captain and XO had gone to try and re-energize the ship's carbon powerplant.

"She'll be dead sir..." Tomski began to say, before his Captain shot him a glare that made him think otherwise.

"Okay," the Captain said, he didn't like the idea of his soul being the energy that brings about the apocolypse so he gathered himself and his thoughts together. "We've got to try and round up as many crew as we can. Tell them our theory."

"About not giving in to that noise..." Dutchy emphasized, the telepath seemed to be more aware of the situation than anyone so it seemed like a prudent idea to go with his concept.

"Save as many people as possible... and hope," Tom paused for a second and looked to his fellow survivors; "And hope that maybe, just maybe our message did send."

Tomski and Dutchy found themselves nodding. It was a hopeless situation, one of their Captain's own engineering, but they'd be damned if they didn't have enough respect for him to follow him to the bitter end.

An hour had passed, and with all of them searching a deck at a time; without loosing sight of each other for more than a few minutes and they had rounded up two more survivors. Blackwell had wanted to the return to the bridge immediately, begin their search on the higher decks of the ship. Partly because he wanted to save Festerov, after abandoning her, and partly because the crew quarters were located at the top of the ship, meaning a higher liklihood of finding people. Festerov had been alright, although she admited being terrified all on her own in the dark, with nothing but the glow of the emergency lights to keep her company. And the second was Ensign Jenkins, found hold up in his quarters with a nasty gash in the side of his where he'd been thrown from his bunk during the failure of the ship's enertial field when the power dissipated.

A few decks down and they'd gotten Jenkins to the medlab. Festerov fortunately doubled a field medic and was treating Jenkins with some archaic treatments with bandages and stitches. Blackwell, Tomski and Dutchy watched on and discussed their situation. "Seven decks, and two survivors. One of which we already knew about. Good going, or bad going?" Blackwell asked his audience.  
"Considering the present circumstances, not to shabby," Tomski said trying to sound at least a little upbeat.

The three were watching the disabled biobed where Festerov was treating Jenkins when suddenly Festerov dropped the floor, her body was wearing the same discolouration the others had. They all rushed to her side, Dutchy was the first to arrive to the cold dead body that was Festerov.

But before the group could grieve they were captured by a wink of light, all around them the surroundings seemed to disintergrate into a white void. But before the group even had a chance to view their new home they brought to another... a much darker one. The inside of a Sakkra transporter room. Standing just a few steps away was the towering bulk of a Sakkra warrior. The tatters of a uniform he wore just served to emphasis the intelligent dinosaur's size, the large bone structures jutting out along his spin were intimidating enough, let alone the shere size of his teeth; and the weapon he had trained on them. The soldier muttered something to another Sakkra, a sligthly smaller one; but Sakkra standards (Who still towered over all the Terrans) before turning back to Blackwell, Dutchy, Tomski and Jenkins.

"You are Terran," it said.

The others looked at Blackwel, the Captain was definately the nominated speaker by default.

"We are," he said, unsure whether he was about to be interogated, given medical treatment, or quite possibly eaten.

"Did you receive our distress call? From the TNS Dauntless?" Blackwell asked when the Sakkra didn't seem to think his brief statement was sufficient.

"We received a Sakkra distress call," the soldier stated, his emphasized Sakkra. "We found a Terran ship, we scanned that ship," his speech was very laboured, partly because of the poor quality of the Sakkra's translation computer, partly because the Sakkra were a very laboured species. "We beamed only lifesigns aboard. We thought Terrans were holding Sakkra hostage."

"You can't have received a Sakkra signal? I mean... I didn't even know we'd got a signal out, a Terran signal, let alone somehow turned it to a Sakkra signal."

The Sakkra paused, waiting for the Terran-to-Sakkra translation to catch up the answered, "A Terran distress signal, we would not have answered. War maybe over. Dislike is not."

"This is the fate of your ship," the second Sakkra, the slightly smaller one, said pressing a very large button in a wall panel... is displayed a holographic of the two Sakkra ships hovering near the Dauntless.

Wait a minute Blackwell thought to himself, he'd seen this before; the signal, the red seventeen that originally drew them to this lifeless piece of rock, it showed the video... of the Sakkra ships destroying. In a second the prophetic video they'd originally been streamed became the reality as the two Sakkra cruiser's opened fire, destroying the Dauntless completely.

Blackwell closed his eyes and turned away as the holographic disengaged.

The two Sakkra seemed to share what could be interprited as an evil laugh before addressing their prisoners once more; "Now you are prioners. Offer exchange to your government for secret Sakkra prisoners."

The Sakkra soldier, he could've even been the ship's Captain the Sakkra were never much for insignia or official distinctions, seemed a little too pleased with himself for a moment but then the smile was wiped off his face when the ship's lights went out. The total blackness was eleviated a moment later when the Sakkra's own emergencies lights, green in colour, suddenly illuminated. The Sakkra Captain was now on the floor, his body drained of life; his formerly proud green scales were now grayish in colour. Blackwell looked at Dutchy, it was happened again.

"If the planet takes these souls, I believe it will have enough," Dutchy stated simply, he didn't sound like a doomed man, but he knew he was. "And the gateway... will open." Blackwell closed his eyes, "Goodbye old friend," he said, his mind made up, his fate sealed. A moment later Dutchy heard his Commanding Officer's body fall to the ground lifeless, and his own followed a moment later. 


	6. Epilogue

Eons ago the Orion's rule prevailed over our galaxy. Their benign rule and advanced technology helped them to administrate their will peaceful and without opposite. However their unviolent demeanour would be put to the test when they eventually came across a technology as advanced as their own whose origins would remain unknown. The Antaran Imperal ships swept through outerlying Orion territory quickly and ruthlessly leaving behind only scorched worlds.

The Orions fought back. Their attentions turned from advanced irrigation and warp field theories to weapons of mass destruction.. and eventually the genetic creation of a race that would fight their battles for them. A horrible war was waged that culminated in a last ditch Antaran assault against the Orion homeworld.

What happened during that assault? That was lost to the ages, along with the actual location of the Orion homeworld. The worlds on which the Orions ruled fell into anarchy and disarray as the natives had little or no clue how to operate the technologies left to them. Millennia passed and the Orion Civilization and the Antaran Civilization become nothing more than myth.

The galaxy is now a different places. Although still recovering from their latest feudal war, the war of Succession, the great space faring Empires would soon face another challenge. Not a new challenge, on the galaxy had seen millions of years before, infact a very old challenge. The gateway to another realm was been breached, and the Anterans were back. 


End file.
